


Fragile

by Fan_dango



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Early in Canon, M/M, Pre-Split, Sexual Content, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_dango/pseuds/Fan_dango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan is anything but fragile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile

Ryan is anything but fragile.

His hair smells like cheap cigarettes and when he bends over, Brendon can see it. Can see it in the curve of his ass and the blue-black bruises on his back and the red of the boxer shorts he stole from Brendon after they slept together for the first time.

“To remember you by,” he had whispered, like it was a one shot deal (like Brendon wasn't going to hold onto him with everything he had). Brendon just laughed and pulled him in again, pulling the shorts off of him before Ryan could even reach for his jeans (so careful of the places that made him flinch, so gentle).

Now they share quick fucks when Ryan drops Brendon off after his shift at the Smoothie Hut, knocking his stupid cap off in the car and holding his hand over the gear shift once they’re out of the parking lot.

Now it’s a, “I gotta leave. My dad—” and an exasperated sigh from Brendon, bare body cushioned in the comforter.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Brendon always mumbles into the pillow, not caring if Ryan hears him or not. It wouldn’t matter anyway. He always goes back.

And Ryan always bends down, his belt in his hand, and kisses Brendon’s forehead. There are usually still creases on his cheek from the pillowcase.

“I know.”

\--

He hasn’t seen Ryan in weeks. Spencer sends him texts telling him practice is cancelled. He doesn’t text back, doesn’t ask. Knows it’s about Ryan without having to.

But then Ryan calls him one night. It’s midnight and it’s a Tuesday and Brendon has school in the morning. Something angry and exhausted in him tells him not to answer.

He does anyway.

Brendon meets Ryan at the café around the corner (he must’ve walked. Fuck. Fuck). The doors are locked, bolted shut, and Ryan’s just waiting outside, leaning against the wall and looking like fucking trouble.

“Ry,” Brendon whispers, and Ryan looks up a little. He shrugs his greeting and follows when Brendon starts walking back to his apartment. He buries his hands deep in his pockets to keep from reaching for Ryan’s hand.

Brendon really thinks it’s something to do with Ryan’s dad (it’s pretty much always fucking something to do with his dad, and Ryan is so tired lately), but Ryan pulls him in by the hips and kisses him as soon as they walk through the door.

“Hi,” Brendon says dumbly when Ryan pulls away. Ryan’s face is wide open, eyes glinting, framed in black. There are bruises on his jawbone, but he smiles a little.

“Pete Wentz… He wants to sign us.”

Brendon’s arms go limp, falling from their grip on Ryan’s biceps. He gapes like an idiot and Ryan kisses him again.

“This is it,” he whispers into Brendon’s hair, pulling him to the bedroom.

\--

Brendon presses Ryan’s front into the mattress, elbows bracketing his shoulders.

Brendon lets him, lets him push back against him with dozens of broken-off almost-whimpers, all muffled into the pillow. He doesn’t lift his head, not even to breath, and Brendon imagines the pillow moistening from his wet breath.

Brendon whispers disjointed things into Ryan’s neck, sucking bruises into his shoulders, panted breaths ripped from his chest. He nudges Ryan’s face until it’s turned around, kissing him too-firmly as a way to silence him, saliva slick on both of their cheeks. Ryan grunts harshly when they break apart, holding onto Brendon’s fingers hard enough that they ache when he finally lets go to get a hand on his dick.

Brendon hides his face in between Ryan’s shoulder blades. It stops him from saying something stupid, something like, I like you (I love you).

His grip tightens on Ryan’s thigh, pausing for a brief moment, and then he comes.

He waits for a beat, (just until Ryan keens, whispering Brendon’s name), before he pushes himself out, off, over onto his back. He melts back into the mattress and closes his eyes, rationing his breath until it’s even. Ryan doesn’t curl up into him, but their hands meet somewhere between them.

Ryan’s phone beeps once in the distance and he doesn’t move to get it. Brendon grins.

\--

Ryan doesn’t go home that night. He doesn’t go home the nights after that, either and Brendon learns to love the eyeliner marks on his sheets.

\--

Pete Wentz’s mood is infectious.

Their practice room is small, shitty compared to what Brendon has seen on TV, but Pete is shooting them encouraging looks. He gives Brendon a thumbs up when their eyes meet. The knot in Brendon’s stomach loosens.

Brendon’s eyes search the room, landing on Ryan.

He smiles at Brendon and counts them in.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on Mibba.com


End file.
